


Consumed

by JuicyDangler



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Female Loki (Marvel), Multi, Post-Thor (2011), Pre-Thor: The Dark World, Sad Thor, Thor Needs a Hug, loki got shit up his sleeve again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuicyDangler/pseuds/JuicyDangler
Summary: The Bifrost in ruins, his brother lost to the cosmos, and his soul mate worlds away, Thor is consumed by grief. Just as he is about to give up all hope, a goddess with mischievous emerald eyes and a devious smirk appears before him, and he is entirely ensnared. Post-Thor, Pre-Avengers. Loki/Thor, Fem!Loki/Thor. Adult themes.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	Consumed

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in 2012. Idk why but I just love writing sad Thor. Things will get better, though.

The Bifrost in ruins, his brother lost to the cosmos, and his soul mate worlds away, Thor is consumed by grief. In one fell swoop, everything he cherished was wrenched from his grasp by the gnarled hands of Fate. Now he has nothing left, save for Mjölnir and the throne he no longer desires.

"Thor, my son, you look as if you haven't slept, and it concerns me," Frigga murmurs in her soft, worried voice.

"Then look not upon me," her son bites out, already storming away from her and down the hall to his chambers, where he knows he will not be disturbed by any more infernal souls.

What good is sleep when the dreams do naught but make his losses all the more pungent?

He returns to his room and marches straight to the bed, but not to rest. Rather, he pulls out a worn and dusty tome from the drawers beside his bed. His large palms almost completely encompass the cover now. The spine creaks in welcome as he opens it to the faded first page, where an inscription in childish script lays inked.

_This book is Loki's and Thor's! Anyone else who touches it will face the wrath of the Odinsons!_

It is merely a silly book of fairytales, something that he and his brother hadn't touched in eons. However, Thor has many fond memories of this book, of him and his brother staying up all night to scare one another with the stories within and of countless days that were spent with the two of them acting out each tale. Thor, a bossy big brother, always insisted on being the hero and forced Loki into being the villain (Sometimes, when the sky is stormy and black, Thor wonders if perhaps _he_ is to blame for Loki's fall into darkness, for Loki's imagined need to be devious. Or maybe the blame lies with the Allfather, who kept such disastrous secrets from Loki. Mayhap it rested with Frigga, who could never bring herself to be as affectionate with her adopted Frost Giant son as she was with Thor, Frigga who could never fully extinguish the loathing in her gaze when she looked upon the Liesmith.).

Thor's blue eyes close and he breathes in the scent of the tome that smells of sunshine and promise. It is a bittersweet smell now that neither of those things is in his life.

"Loki," he whispers, "brother, please come home."

* * *

"Thor!"

Volstagg's booming voice echoes through the gilded halls, overjoyed by the sight of his longtime brother-in-arms. The Prince of Asgard's shoulders sag imperceptibly. He was hoping to escape the palace without running into anybody who would stop to voice their concern on his condition.

It is so very tiresome.

"Volstagg, my friend." He smiles, but it seems an alien thing to do and his eyes are too strained to make it seem true.

Thor's forced expression does not go amiss by the largest warrior of Asgard, and his grin swiftly fades to a frown as he nears the God of Thunder. Though his body is still chiseled and fit for a true warrior, it is painfully obvious that his armor is looser than ever before.

Despite that Volstagg is no pretender, he cracks another wide grin and claps his friend on the shoulder. "Come and have a repast with me and the rest of the Warriors Three! It has been too long since we have dined together!"

"Would that I could, Volstagg," Thor says quickly, "but Odin has sent me on a journey to the Stone Giants in the north to ensure that they have not broken their treaty with us."

"Ah, I see. Well, you should grace us with your company upon your return. Our merrymaking doesn't seem near as merry without you."

"Yes, yes, I shall make sure to visit you and the others once I am returned from the north."

Volstagg lets him leave, instead of taking issue with the lies that spouted from his closest friend's mouth. He knows that the Allfather has not asked his son to be anywhere; Frigga confided in the Warriors Three her and Odin's concerns for their son's wellbeing only a few days ago. Odin would not want his would-be enemies to know of the heir to the throne's sudden…instabilities.

The great warrior shakes his head, his heart heavy with sorrow and disquiet for the Prince.

* * *

Nighttime falls and finds Thor within his chambers, having once again skipped supper in the banquet hall. He cannot remember the last time he ate. He cannot bring himself to think about something as inconsequential as meals when his brother is gone and his beloved Jane is out of his reach.

He lies on his bed on the thick bear pelt comforter as he balances Mjölnir on the tip of his finger, his eyes set on some point deep in the past. His mind often wanders to the days of his youth nowadays. Perhaps it is because his childhood was happier.

Perhaps it is because he feels there is no future.

Perhaps it is because he wishes there were no present.

He thinks back to the not-so-joyous occasion in which Loki gifted Mjölnir to him. He had been about twenty, and Loki not quite seventeen. He remembers the dwarves' demand for punishment, and he remembers how Loki trembled as he held him down and Odin stitched the golden thread through his dark-haired son's lips with all the precision and calmness of a tailor.

As though he were merely patching an obnoxious tear, and not putting his child through a torture unbearable.

 _Please,_ Loki's voice had rung out in Thor's mind via magic, frayed from the pain and desperation, _Please, brother! Make him stop!_

But what could Thor do against the Allfather? No, he knew that if he were to stand up to Odin, the punishment would only become more severe for Loki.

Instead, the God of Thunder did the only thing he could: he ran his hands down his brother's arms soothingly and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Their father had deemed the stiches a sufficient penance for his wrongdoings and therefore hadn't locked his youngest son up. Loki did it himself.

He shut himself in his room and did not emerge no matter how much Thor pleaded and knocked and pounded and shouted and threatened. Loki felt that Thor had betrayed him just like their father. It was probably at this time that Loki began truly to despise his golden brother, despite how hard Thor tried to make amends.

Weeks went by and still Loki refused to leave his chambers. His brother was at his wit's end. They had usually spent every day with each other, and to suddenly be bereft of his brother's company made something in his heart chill with unease. He needed to see his brother, needed to be with him to feel at peace. Yet Loki would have none of it.

On the seventh week and fifth day after Loki's treachery and subsequent punishment, the bolt from within slid free, the grinding of it waking Thor from his fitful slumber outside his brother's door. He opened his eyes to see his brother's slight figure in the crack of the door, his green eyes wide in incredulity and perhaps…gladness?

 _You big oaf,_ he said softly in Thor's mind, emerging from his room to heave his half-awake brother to his feet. Together they walked into Loki's chambers, the smaller one having a somewhat rough time of supporting the larger's weight. _How long have you been out there?_

"Seven weeks, five days," Thor mumbled as Loki dropped him onto the bed.

_You're an idiot._

Soft, delicate fingers that belied Loki's words were weaving through his golden hair, and an easy smile crossed Thor's lips. "Yes, but a happy idiot."

He heard his brother snort quietly in good-natured derision and Thor sighed as the fingers left his hair. Now they were untying the bindings of his sandals, ghosting over his calves with feather-light touches.

 _Why would you sit out there for so long?_ Loki demanded softly.

"Why would I not?" Thor asked, his voice hard to discern due to the sleep that fogged his mind. "You're my brother."

There was a rustle of cloth and suddenly there was a cool, reassuring weight on Thor's side. He didn't have to have his eyes open to know that Loki lie beside him with his head in the crook of his brother's broad shoulder, one hand lost in Thor's red tunic.

They hadn't slept together like this since they were children and Loki had awoken from a nightmare, but Thor was so tired and so glad to see his brother again that he didn't care about how odd it should have felt.

He just knew that it felt right to be back with Loki, to have him so close, to be able to smell his wintery, spicy scent.

Thor wrapped his arm around his brother, his hand protectively on Loki's waist.

When Thor slowly rose from his slumber the next morning, he realized that Loki was still in bed with him and that he had not budged even an inch from where he had lain when they had fallen asleep. That made him smile and reflexively pull him just the tiniest bit closer. Loki in return pressed himself further against his brother, still fast asleep.

Loki truly was a beautiful Asgardian, despite his irregularities. Or perhaps due to them; Thor wasn't certain. His pale skin contrasted sharply with Thor's where his tunic had ridden up in the night to allow his flesh to meet his little brother's bare chest. Where Thor's skin spoke of training and fighting in the sunlight and elements, Loki's spoke of days spent studying and perfecting his magic. Loki was the only Asgardian who had been born with black hair, and while some would treat him as an outsider for such a petty thing, Thor cherished him for it. It was a refreshing change from the bland palette of yellows and reds and chestnuts that blurred together in Asgard.

The black stitches stood out harshly against Loki's porcelain complexion, and the skin around each place of entry was puckered and an angry shade of red. Thor's heart broke looking at their father's handiwork. Had the man no heart? Certainly he cherished the Allfather just as any son should, but this had been too cruel to do to a child.

Much less one's own.

As the blond god looked over his brother's punishment, an absurd thought sprouted unwarranted in his mind.

He wanted to do so much for Loki. He wanted to make Loki's pain and heartache vanish. He wanted to make him see that Odin was cold because he cared. He wanted to make their father see that such harsh parenting would do neither Loki nor him any good in the long run.

He wanted to kiss his brother's lips, to show him that he was sorry for not being able to save him. To show him that he loved him. To show him that no matter what happened, he would _always_ treat Loki with the cherishment and respect that he deserved.

But Thor knew that sweet sentiment would be no balm for physical pain, so, hesitantly, he brought his lips up to his brother's cool forehead and pressed a soft kiss there. His lips lingered as he thought hard about what he wanted to do for Loki in the hopes that those feelings would be felt alongside the warmth and softness of the kiss.

When he pulled away a few moments later, he was startled to see Loki's bright green eyes gaping in surprise at him.

 _Th-thor,_ he stammered in his brother's mind, _did you just_ kiss _me?_

There was no sense in lying to the God of Lies; Thor had learned that lesson long ago. "Yes," he murmured, head hung and gaze averted. Now that Loki was awake and was questioning him, Thor too began to question himself. Why had he done such a thing? What had he been thinking? His thoughts from before seemed so…odd.

Loki was bewildered. _Why?_

Many confessions lay poised on the thunder god's tongue, yet all he could say was, "You are my one and only brother and I wish that Father had not punished you as he did. It was not what you deserved. And I wish that I could have done something to stop him."

The smaller god's lips twitched for the briefest of moments in a smile, but the expression faltered as the stitches tugged and he winced.

 _And so you kiss me in my sleep?_ Loki asked, his mirth obvious in his tone. _My brother Thor, crowned prince of Asgard, is girlier than ever thought possible._

Thor glowered at his brother, half-upset with how Loki was brushing him off and half-pleased that his brother was being his usual self. Laughter glinted in the mischief god's eyes.

"I will convince Father to take out the stitches immediately," Thor vowed softly.

Loki shook his head, no smile on his lips but one in the way his eyes danced. _You need not risk the Allfather's wrath for my sake._

The thunder god took Loki's face in his large hands, his blue eyes as serious as could be as he looked straight at his brother. "I _do_ need to, because you are more important to me than anything else."

The younger god's eyes widened, the laughter gone from them and something new and foreign in its place for just a second, so quick that Thor had no time to ponder the sudden change.

 _You're such a dolt,_ was all Loki said, warmly.

* * *

It is at the banquet that Thor first sees her.

He does not emerge from his chambers unless bidden now, yet Odin commanded his presence at this feast, and ordered his son to be the heir to the throne that he should be, not the "petulant child" he was acting.

Thor is loath to leave the sanctuary of his room to play the politics game with all the foreign dignitaries that will be there. He always disliked such things before, but now being around any person is grating on his patience, his sanity.

But he bathes himself, trims his unkempt beard, brushes the tangles out of his hair which has grown nearly to the middle of his back in his apathy, and dons his royal armor and cape. To the casual onlooker, he is the same God of Thunder as he was before misery gripped him. But Thor can see how his once sky-blue eyes are now dull cobalt. He throws on a smile in the mirror, and continues to practice until he can make it reach his eyes to brighten them up, until it looks genuine.

Though he does not often venture from his room, he is well aware of the rumors that the servants whisper of his insanity, of how Odin fears he may not be able to take the throne. The prince does not particularly care what his father or the maids think, but he knows that the nobility present at this feast must not have any reason to begin thinking the same. He does not wish for any more trouble to befall Asgard.

With one last glance into the mirror, he exits his chambers and steels himself against the long night ahead.

Thor's grin lights up the halls and his laughter shakes them as he makes his rounds, catching up with all the who's-who of Asgardian politics and alliances. Most people he knows, but there are some who are newcomers and he welcomes them with a warm embrace or gentlemanly bow.

He can feel the watchful, anxious gazes of the Warriors Three and his parents as he interacts with the guests. It is an irritating itch, their worry and distrust, but he shrugs it off with another perfectly practiced grin and regales some king of a distant land with a tale from his youthful days.

When it is finally time to feast and the toast is made, Thor's façade slips just the slightest. The lamb and other delicacies on his plate turn his stomach, as does all food before him, but he forces the rising bile back down and begins the grueling task before him. It has been months and months since he has eaten anything more substantial than Idunn's apples and mead. Though the food is as tasteless as it is hard to swallow, Thor manages.

He thinks that Loki would be surprised, perhaps _proud,_ even, of his newfound ability to deceive.

The pain that rips through his heart at the thought of his fallen brother is almost enough to yank the air from his lungs, but he takes a steadying breath. Not here. Not now.

As he finishes his meal and breathes a sigh of relief, he looks down the great horseshoe-shaped table and his sight is drawn, inexorably, to a woman so ruthlessly beautiful that Thor thinks the world stops when their gazes meet.

The frozen emeralds of her eyes hold worlds all of their own, spinning and blazing with mischief and intrigue, and as she sets down her glass daintily and her red lips upturn in the smallest of smiles, Thor is consumed by her entirely.

It is all he can do to wait until the meal is finished and the people begin to mingle once again so that he can go to her and find out who she is. He drums his fingers on the table impatiently even as he smiles to Fandral who sits beside him.

When Thor finds her, she has left the din of the alehall and stands on a silent balcony with her back to him, gazing up into the stars. The moonlight casts a soft glow on her long ebony locks and snow-white flesh.

"I had been hoping you would come, Thor Odinson," she says, and her voice is like an icy flagon on a blazing summer day.

The thunder god swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "You have me at a disadvantage, my lady," he says, fingers itching to turn her around so he can see those eyes once again. "It would seem that you know me but I can't remember seeing such beauty in these halls before tonight."

At this she turns towards him, a smirk on her full lips. She is perfection beneath the moonlight, the green of her skintight scalemail dress hugging her ample figure in an almost serpentine manner. The pelt of bear fur she wears as a cape shields her from the chilled breezes and marks her as the warrior she is, as does the slender sword sheathed at her hip.

Her words fall from her lips like a dark secret. "I am Princess of Norðanverðr of Vanaheim. You may call me Veles."

The God of Thunder bows low and gives a gentle, lingering kiss to her outstretched hand, unable to look away from those green eyes that are all too familiar.


End file.
